


They Shall Not Grow Old

by OwnerOfAllTears



Category: 1917 (Movie 2019)
Genre: Blakefield, Ghosts, Guilt, Just a lot of sadness, M/M, Sadness, Violence, and guilt, everyone dies okay, lots of death, minor despictions of wounds, relationship implied, subtle gayness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-23
Updated: 2020-03-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 20:01:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23272879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwnerOfAllTears/pseuds/OwnerOfAllTears
Summary: William reaches the 2nd Devons, only to realize his mission has gone awry far sooner than he realized
Relationships: Tom Blake & William Schofield, Tom Blake/William Schofield
Comments: 5
Kudos: 28
Collections: Not Just Another War Movie





	They Shall Not Grow Old

Cold. Cold was the only thing William could feel. Chill down to the bone. That and a strange sensation of lightness, as if his veins had filled with air instead of blood. But there was no pain, no discomfort, not even exhaustion or hunger. Nothing but cold.

He felt in a sort of daze, a dreamy fog clouding his thoughts as he exited the run down building, into the blown up streets of Ecoust. The light from the magnesium flares momentarily blinded him, his hands coming up to protect his eyes. The world was upside down, there was no right or left, no wrong or right. Just debris piled in every direction and the phantasmagoric shadows created by the flares. A true nightmare, yet it was completely real.

The crunching of boots on broken glass snapped him back to his senses, the soldier holding his breath and straining his ear. Someone was coming, an enemy, no doubt. From where? Doesn’t matter, his instincts urged him to run. His footsteps where strangely soundless as he put distance between him and the newcomer. There was no time to look over his shoulder, see if he was being chased. He had to run, as fast as he could. Down shelled streets, slipping on cobbled stones and stumbling upon the leftovers of a once great town. Wings seemed to carry his feet, adrenaline keeping him from collapsing. Running in darkness once the flares stopped, towards an unknown destiny. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of something bright, dancing high into the air and sending sparks in every direction.

A fire.

A church, towering over the city square, was engulfed in flames. The sight was horrifying, yet mesmerizing. His mind urged him to keep going, to hide, find a way out and carry on with his mission. But his body, after being submerged for hours in pitch darkness and cold, felt attracted to the light. Light is safety, is warmth, and is goodness. There was heat obviously radiating from the conflagration, but William couldn’t feel it. It seemed to flow past him, not taking away his chill. Yet, he stood there in awe at the full force of nature, taking down everything men took so long to build. That is, until he saw a silhouette. Standing in front of the fire, a riffle swung over his shoulder.

A German

His body moved faster than his mind. Quick on his feet, William put as much distance between him and the German as possible. He didn’t hear footsteps, but the German must have been chasing him, for he was sure he was making a thunderous noise with his boots. His ears rung as he came to an intersection. The footsteps echoed in his mind, a whole army was surely chasing him. Following a hunch, he took a sharp left, down an alley. Doors and windows were locked and the soldiers would get him any minute. In a last desperate attempt, he kneeled down next to a coal chute and slid in.

*

Lance Corporal William Schofield was having the worst day of his life. His heart ached for the girl and her baby, his conscience screamed at him for the young German, and he could still feel the bodies pressed against his chest as he crawled to safety. Their eyes glossed and empty, all staring at him, with their hangings mouths calling his name. For a moment he felt as if their stiff fingers were clinging to his uniform, trying to get him to stay, to claim his life. He was getting delusional.

The singing soldier felt as if he had been welcomed into heaven by an angel in person. The untrained yet captivating voice, the breeze rustling the leaves, the sea of young men crowded around; it was too much to handle. His knees gave in, his frame collapsing against a tree. The scent of mud and flowers floated around him; mixed with the gunpowder, sweat and burning tobacco. Will felt so relaxed, at peace. His body was a feather swaying in the wind; he felt so weightless, almost aerial. Like he was moving on into a new world where there was no pain or suffering. He never wanted the feeling to stop

His bringing back to reality was abrupt. The soothing voice was gone, soldiers gathering their kits and mumbling to each other. William felt the adrenaline surge through him again. The Devons, they must be the Devons! He had gone past the town, followed the river to the woods, there was no chance they weren’t the 2nd Devons. Sun was about to peek over the horizon. Time was running out.

He grabbed the arm of a Private close to him, but the boy completely ignored him. In fact, he didn’t seem to notice him at all. Will tried again and again with every man he could grab a hold of, but they kept their gazes ahead, marching down a freshly dug trench made of white stones. His senses seemed to be betraying him, now when he needed them the most. The sun, reflecting on the stones, blinded him; the sounds coming from every direction disorienting him. He tried to touch the soldiers but he couldn’t even feel them at all. What was happening? His head was spinning, to the point he had to lean against the dirt wall, hands trembling, breaths getting caught in his throat. What kind of wicked dream was this?

He had the letter, he found the battalion, yet he seemed to have become fog, invisible to everyone. For the second time that morning, Will cried. This nightmare was far worse than anything he had lived to that day. Over the ringing of his ears, he heard the whistles, sending the first wave into battle. The cries of war filled the air as man after man poured out from the trench, holding their riffles and hopes in their trembling hands.

No

They couldn’t go! They would all die; all 1600 of them and it would be William’s fault. He knew he couldn’t live with that guilt. His desperation reached unsustainable levels. This had to be a nightmare. William frantically beat his fists against his temples, hoping to shake himself awake and realize he had been asleep all along. Maybe asleep back with the 8th, asleep under tons of rubble in the German bunker, even on the bank of the river or asleep in Lauri’s hideout.

Maybe if he beat himself hard enough, Blake would still be alive…

Suddenly a pair of hands wrapped around his own, stopping his attack. They felt warm, the first warmth he had felt since the previous day. Their touch sent tingles down his spine, making him choke at the contact. His heavy breathing soon turned into full out sobs once the man lifted his gaze to meet the owner of those soft hands.

Blake stood in front of him, looking very much alive. His clothes were still blood stained, but he was no longer pale, or cold. His cheeks were rosy and his lips red like cherries. He exuded color and warmth and life, quite welcome after the dullness and cold Sco had been submerged in since that incident. The shock was too great to question how, or why. William sprung to his feet, clinging onto Tom as if he was holding his entire life; his sobs mixing with little laughs of relief. Tom was alive; somehow William had failed to notice he was alive, and made it to the Devons too. Everything was alright.

Except, it wasn’t alright.

Soon Will realized Tom wasn’t hugging back, nor cracking jokes and complaining about food like he’d normally do. He was still, back stiff and arms hanging at his sides, chin lightly resting upon Will’s shoulder. Then it dawned on him. He recovered his senses, the scene unfolding in front of him hitting him like a train. Soldiers running across the battlefield, being blown to pieces by shells. Officers sending in the second wave to its destruction. Death, screams, pleas of help. Sons, fathers, brothers. Joseph

“Come on, Blake. Your brother, we have to find him. We can still stop them” Will grabbed hold of the boy’s hand, ready to pull him along the trench in search for Colonel Mackenzie. But he was nearly swept off his feet when Tom didn’t move, instead pulling back with a strength unknown in him. Will turned around to protest, but was silenced by Tom’s eyes. Until now he hadn’t realized they held all the sadness in the world, their bright blue having turned into a ghostly pale color, like a winter morning. They were flooded with tears. His trembling lips parted, struggling to find the words to say

“What are you doing here?” His sweet voice cracked at the end. Tom had never looked so hurt, like his universe had collapsed and he was alone in the rubble. The sight was heart wrenching, but his words confusing “What do you mean? I am here for the message. Come on, we have to save them. Save your brother, remember?” Will pulled again, but Blake didn’t move. He seemed rooted to his spot. Tears had started to pour down his cheeks, getting lost in the curve of his neck.

“You shouldn’t be here Sco. You shouldn’t. Things weren’t supposed to be like this, you were meant to be alright. Why aren’t you alright? Why are you here?” Tom’s tone was almost accusing, as if Sco’s presence there was an insult to himself. What was going on? Why was Blake so upset about all of this? Why wasn’t he trying to save his brother? Again, Sco’s thoughts were clouded and slow, as if his brain had been replaced with lead.

His dumbfounded expression seemed to have stirred something in Blake, for the young boy began exploring Schofield’s body frantically; his fingers soft but quick, as if he had been looking for something in particular. The gentle hands finally caressed his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. Will felt pleasure in the touch, but Blake look as if he had been stabbed again.

Slowly, painfully slow, Blake held Sco’s hand and brought it up to the man’s neck. His hands trembled badly, and so did his lips. He could barely form his next words “Did you...did you take a fall? Did you have an accident? Were you…attacked?” The questions didn’t make sense at all, until Sco’s fingertips brushed against the back of his own neck. There was a big, uneven lump sticking out there, hard to the touch. But there wasn’t any pain or discomfort. Surely something like that would cause a hell lot of pain. His confusion kept getting worse and worse, and his silence caused Blake to snap.

“Wake up Sco, don’t you see it? You were supposed to be the smart one! Why do you think I am here with you? Why do you think no one notices you? Why do you…why do you think I am not trying to save Joe?” Their eyes met for a second, but for William Schofield, time had stopped; realization dawning on him like a bucket of ice cold water. Everything he had gone through, all those people he had met. The girl, that baby, the Germans…

No

No, this couldn’t be! Things weren’t supposed to go this way. He had to avenge Blake’s death, had to deliver the letter and save Joseph; save the Devons. He had to go back home to his family. No, he refused to meet his end like this; so many things had been left undone. So much left to live for. Will tried to run down the trench, to attempt to find Mackenzie and fulfill his duty. But Blake held him back, using his bulky frame as a shield to keep the man from moving. His desperation became evident as his friend screamed and trashed in his firm grasp, trying to move, calling the Colonel’s name as the last wave poured out of the trench, slipping in the blood soaked soil.

“No, let me go. Let me go you bastard, I have to find Mackenzie. I have to deliver the fucking letter” With each word his voice became weaker, but still underlined with frantic desperation and despair. “I have to save your brother! I have…I have” At last, his knees buckled and he fell into Blake’s embrace, far too shocked and numb to cry. The massacre around them was brutal, and the feeling of knowing there was nothing to be done, that they had both failed. No, not both. Will felt he had failed. He was the older, more experienced soldier. He had to protect Blake, had to carry on with the mission and save all these men. His failure had signified a slaughter. How could he ever exist with this guilt? Would he ever find comfort in the afterlife? Or the remorse would be a burden to carry with him for eternity? He wanted to scream, to pull off his hair and beat the ground until his fingers bled. The only thing keeping him sane were Blake’s arms around him, their cheeks pressed together and the soothing hand rubbing his back in circles.

How many hours they spent huddled together like that, no one could tell. They no longer felt pain or tiredness, no pulled muscles or stiff joints. May as well have stayed like that for a century. But when they finally did look up, the battle was long over. They couldn’t tell the time, for the sun was entirely clouded by the billowing smoke. What had once been a green meadow now was a scorched landscape, deformed by the blasts of the artillery, and filled to the brim with human remains. The earth was hot, sticky and smoldering, the most grotesque sigh the young soldiers had ever laid eyes on. Not even the Somme had felt this bad in William’s heart. Because unlike the Somme, every single man here had died because of his failure.

His gaze fixed on a shimmery piece of metal buried in the dirt. Upon closer inspection he realized it was a locket. Small and heart shaped, a token given by a wife or a girlfriend, perhaps even a mother. A piece of memory which would never make it back home. None of them would make it back home; none of them would move on with their lives or grow old. The young died so the old could claim the glory. Victory was invaluable, for the price was paid with these men’s lives.

His thoughts were interrupted by the sudden realization they were no longer alone. Hundreds of men were standing there too, dumbfounded and scared, staring at themselves and each other; trying to figure out the new world they had woken up into. Blake moved past them with ease, staring at each ghost and recognizable body that came across his path. It wasn’t until he stopped to kneel next to a body that Sco finally understood. At last, they had found Lieutenant Blake.

By some wicked, horrifying miracle, Joseph Blake was still alive. But one quick glance told both boys that he didn’t have much longer. Scho couldn’t bear to look at his legs for more than a split second, but it was enough time to know he had been caught in the full blast of a shell. The resemblance with his baby brother, even in his last minutes, forced William to close his eyes. The paper white face, the blood stained hands, blue eyes pooled with tears and lips parted struggling to catch a breath. The flashbacks and guilt came too fast to conceal his pained expression, a choked cry coming out of his mouth. He even had to hold his stomach, his guts twisting painfully at the sight, something he didn’t think possible anymore.

Obviously, Joe couldn’t see them, his eyes fixed past above them and into the now clearing skies, sunrays forcing their way past the smoke and feebly attempting to warm them up. Broken cries escaped his lips, choked sounds and heavy, long gasps, clearly trying to grasp desperately onto his last strands of life. One hand clutching two blood stained pictures to his chest, the other propped up in the elbow and slightly pointed upwards, looking as if he was reaching out for someone to help him. The tears carved lines in his dirt stained face, the soldier far too weak to wipe them away.

Will spared one quick glance at Tom. It seemed as if the roles had been swapped, Joseph having become now the younger brother who needed protection. Tom’s face held such serenity and maturity, his jaw clenched and not a single tear in sight. The only sign of his distress were his slightly quickened breaths. Tom held Joe’s hand as much as he could, knowing his brother couldn’t feel him but hoping it would be enough. Seeing your brother in distress and agonizing without being able to comfort him properly was heart breaking, but Tom would be there to welcome him into the other side. Joseph wouldn’t have to transition into this alone like he did.

The soft breeze blew the last wisps of smoke away, and a clear sky was finally revealed. The sunrays kissed Joe’s face, the smallest hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips at the warm feeling. His eyes fell close, and suddenly his hand grasped Tom’s tightly. He was ready. Slowly and gently, Tom wrapped his free arm around his brother’s shoulders and pushed him up. The body’s outline blurred as the two versions of it parted ways, and with his brother’s help, Joseph Blake stood again on his own two feet, but into a whole new world. He was absolutely startled, his head turning left and right, taking in the whole unfolding scene. He was horrified and scared, his feet quickly trying to take him away, only to collide into Tom, whom he somehow had overlooked in his panicked state. Tommy was there? How? He was supposed to be miles away. How could they both be there, and why was his brother crying? His question was quickly answered as he stepped back, only to stumble into…himself. There is no stranger feeling than staring right into your own lifeless eyes, comparing the mangled body at your feet with your own self. Joseph kneeled down next to his earthly remains, pulling the pictures away from his own cold and stiff grasp. He flipped them up, staring at the same picture of his family that Tom had, and a second one of a young lady wearing her Sunday dress and cherry blossoms woven in her hair. His thumb brushed over the faded faces as realization came to him of what had just transpired in that patch of land. If he was there, and Tom was there too, it could only mean…

“No” He turned to his brother and the quiet soldier who stood next to him. They weren’t surprised, or scared, and both had soft and understanding faces for him. Which meant they both were…dead, like him. Like himself and so many others. Coming to terms with your own death is one thing, but having to come to terms with the fact that your only brother was dead too, and had left this life before you, that was something one could never do “Tom, Tommy you shouldn’t be here. You weren’t supposed to be here. To end like this. You had to come go back home”

William recognized in Joseph’s voice the same sadness; empty, tired sadness he had noticed in Tom’s voice when they first came face to face hours ago. The horror of knowing someone you loved joined your dreadful fate, the pain far too great to rejoice on the relief of knowing you wouldn’t have to face this alone. Had Tom felt alone when he died? Had he followed Will along his journey because he couldn’t bear to stand there on his own, stranded in an abandoned farm, a wandering soul who would never return home, would never be at peace, who had been stripped not only of his very own life, but also of any hope of company or friendship, who had been stripped of any chance of feeling love again?

Sco had intended to wander away as the brothers had embraced each other, wanting to give them space in such intimate moment, allowing them to put each other back together in the way only family could. But he was promptly pulled by the back of his uniform, the strong arm of his friend holding him close too. Joe and Will had never met each other, yet hugged too like brothers, for that’s what they were. What all those soldiers were. Brothers by chance and circumstances, having only each other to support and encourage and help survive through this war.

When they managed to pull away, the three of them had tears in their eyes and cheeks. Joe was the first to wipe them away, feeling that being the eldest and the highest ranking, it was beneath his dignity to lose composure in such way. He blinked fast, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, obviously pretending to have something in his eye, and di his best to look dignified. Tom gave him one long look and suddenly tackled him to the ground; both boys rolling in the dirt in a heap of limbs, tickling each other and laughing like only children did, freely and shamelessly. The first real laughs they had in a good while.

It took them hours to catch up. Tom introduced Will, and they both took to explain how their friendship had developed and every funny moment they had shared together. The three of them carefully avoided mentioning the events that had brought them together on that place and time, the emotional wound still being fresh and hurting, a feeling which would surely never pass, but together they would learn to deal with the pain. They shared stories from home, Tom learning that his mother was soon to pass away from tuberculosis, and the news had been withheld from him by Joe, since he didn’t want to tamper with his spirits. Tom cried a bit but didn’t feel sadness, for that meant his Mama would be spared the pain of learning of her sons’ deaths. Will too talked about home, how his mother had long passed and he lived with his sister and nieces. They talked about their jobs and houses and pets and Joe’s girlfriend for hours on end. Near sunset they found a patch of grass still intact, and sat together in silence, each one dwelling on their own thoughts, finding their own way to come to terms with their new lives. Tom had his head on Will’s chest, with the blonde having one arm around each of the Blake brother’s shoulders.

This fate wasn’t perfect, nor what none of them had planned. Their youth had been taken away, forcing them to become adults. Their soul and humanity were destroyed the moment a rifle was forced into their hands. They weren’t allowed to feel, to grieve, to suffer. They weren’t allowed to grow old, to live. War takes but never gives.

Everything had been taken away from them, but they had found new things to fill the empty space. They had found each other. And in that field, in front of a sunset, it seemed like more than enough. Future couldn’t be so bad with people you love with you.

**Author's Note:**

> Just as an explanation in case you had doubt, William died in Ecoust, having suffered from a broken neck after falling down the stairs. All the people he interacted with in Ecoust were dead too. Lauri and her baby had died in the bombing of the city, while Baumer and Muller had been executed after deserting the German Army. I replaced William's wife and daughters for blood relatives to leave the door open to imagination for Blakefield shippers


End file.
